


Spots

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, Cat Castiel, Dean/Cas Tropefest 5k Mid-Winter Challenge, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 18:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14171286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: After a run-in with an old god, Castiel is left... out of sorts. Only, Dean doesn't expect just how different he is, until he's left taking care of a giant, unexpectedly yappy cheetah for a week.





	Spots

There is a massive cat at the foot of Dean’s bed.

Not just a cat, but a cheetah—with blotchy, thick spots, black tear tracks running from its impossibly blue eyes, and a white-tipped tail that keeps twitching from side to side as it purrs. Loudly.

Dean flings himself from the bed, naked except for his briefs, and sprints from the room without any forethought about his personal safety or if the thing could chase and maul him on his way to the—Where is he supposed to go, anyway? Can’t these things run, and fast, at that?

He ends up in the kitchen with a knife in his hands, backed against the counter and sucking in air like he’s been deprived. At first, he doesn’t hear anything other than his own heart in his ears, but a soft clicking soon joins in, overshadowing his own futile attempts at not passing out. The beast’s head pokes around the corner, followed by thin legs and flexing shoulders, definitely the body of a cat—a big cat, with teeth sharp enough to rip Dean’s body apart if it wanted.

But it doesn’t. The most it does is chirp and pad its way over to Dean’s side, rubbing its muzzle against his bare leg. Its whiskers tickle—Dean tries not to think about that too hard.

Gingerly, Dean relinquishes the knife and sets it on the counter. The cheetah watches all the while, its eyes boring into him with such unnerving familiarity, like this creature knows him and he knows it in return. Which isn’t possible—who does he know that can transform into animals, and vice versa? Sure, some monsters are capable of such a feat, but last he checked, Sam was human and Castiel can’t spontaneously shift into cats on a whim.

But the more the cheetah blinks at him and rubs his leg, Dean begins to wonder if it’s entirely possible that this cat is in fact someone he knows. Given the circumstances, it would have to be, or else someone has lost their incredibly loud African cat at some point overnight.

“I thought I heard you run—Oh.” Sam rounds the corner and stops, hands braced on the door jamb and feet precariously perched on the tips of his toes. The cheetah looks at him and purrs even louder, its tail twitching on the tiling. Yet, it never leaves Dean’s side, headbutting his thigh several times and nudging his hand, seeking comfort in the form of ear scratches. “You—Why is there—”

“Shit if I know,” Dean exclaims, too pitchy for his liking. The cat licking his fingers doesn’t help any, and again, it lets out a loud chirp, sounding suspiciously like a name. “It was on my bed, what was I supposed to do?”

“Call someone?” Sam accuses. Only minutely does he loosen up, cautiously crossing the room with his hands raised just the slightest. The cheetah, previously nipping at Dean’s fingers, relinquishes its spot on the floor and walks over to Sam, who is currently struggling not to bolt from the room.

Another chirp and even louder purring, tail violently twitching from side to side. “This is so weird,” Dean says, exasperated, covering his eyes. “God, where’s Cas? Can’t he like, call someone to wrangle this thing himself?”

“Cas,” the cheetah yaps, rotating back to Dean.

If Dean weren’t on the verge of passing out before, he certainly is now. It must be Castiel—it has to be. But if this is Castiel, then how did he end up like this, and why?

“Cas?” Dean asks. Both he and Sam blink at the cheetah’s nod and tail vibration, blue eyes staring up at him wide and pleading. It lets out another chirp and rams dangerously close to Dean’s crotch, and—yep, that’s Castiel. “Dude, Cas is a fucking cheetah.”

“Wait, that’s—How?” The tension bleeds from Sam’s shoulders significantly, the threat of imminent attack gone. “Not the weirdest thing we’ve seen, but… Cas?”

The cheetah—Castiel, apparently—turns again and stands on its hind legs, placing its paws up on Sam’s broad shoulders to steady itself. Sam, if anything, turns even whiter, but his smile returns when Castiel licks his face, and that’s enough of an answer for either of them.

-+-

Castiel is a cheetah. Dean has no idea how or why, but his best friend is currently a spotted cat with an affinity for following Dean wherever he goes, even so far as to stand outside of the bathroom door when Dean is inside. Probably something to do with abandonment, or just loneliness in general. Either way, Dean allows him to loiter and sprawl out on the floor of the library while he and Sam research.

Whoever transformed him could have at least left his voice box intact—that would make things infinitely easier than they were.

“You know, for as much as cats were revered in the past, you’d think there would be more gods,” Sam remarks, closing the pages of some Latin-encrypted text Dean can’t even begin to read. “The closest we have is Bastet, but she’s an old god.”

“And they’re supposed to be all dead,” Dean adds, to Sam’s agreement.

Castiel, however, lets out a loud chirp in protest. He pulls himself away from licking his paw and stands—physically stands, with his paws on the table and everything—leering down at the books spread out before them and sniffing the pages. He noses the book sitting closest to Dean, the complete history of Egyptian mythology, and yaps again.

“Maybe not as dead as we thought,” Sam says, shaking his head.

“Is that what you’re trying to tell us?” Dean asks, eying Castiel warily. Castiel nods and licks his nose. Neat trick. “Did you meet a god?”

Another nod. Sam continues with, “Did you meet Bastet?” Castiel answers him with a chirp that sounds eerily reminiscent to ‘yes,’ afterwards bumping the book again with his head. “Did she turn you into a cheetah?”

Gracelessly, Castiel jumps on the table without ceremony and nearly dumps over Dean’s coffee mug and several stacks of books and—just about everything. He’s all long legs, with the balance of a drunken sailor when he’s standing still; Dean would laugh if it weren’t terrifying. “Whoa, boy.” Dean snaps to get Castiel’s attention, attempting to lead him off of the table and back onto the tile floor.

Thankfully, Castiel complies, but only after he sends a pen and an entire stack of paper clattering to the floor. “So what,” Sam huffs underneath the table, retrieving each rumpled piece, “Angel has a run in with an old god and she decides she wants to have a little fun?”

“Looks that way,” Dean says, hands in his hair.

Swallowing, he looks down to Castiel again, those blue eyes staring up at him with a plea, even as his tail swishes from side to side. Really, Dean feels for him—in the same situation, Dean would want nothing more than to be human, or to at least communicate with words and not indecipherable cat-noises. Not even normal cat noises, either—high pitched bellows that sound more like a Chihuahua than anything feline.

Out of all of the people Castiel had to just happen upon, it had to be the protector of cats.

Grunting, Dean squats down to Castiel’s level, ignoring the way Castiel nudges his face and nips his nose with too-sharp fangs. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay?” he says, hands to either side of Castiel’s face. God, his fur is soft, and Castiel purrs even louder when Dean scratches just under his ears, eyes closing. “Not gonna let you stay a cat forever.”

“It might be cool,” Sam jokes. “He could always chase down monsters.”

“Like that’ll work,” Dean laughs. Castiel snuffles in his hands, nudging Dean’s head with his own again. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. We’ll get on it.”

-+-

Owning a cheetah is like taking care of a toddler: Castiel gets into any and every place he possibly can and screams whenever anyone leaves him alone, and constantly begs for attention. Not that these were necessarily his traits in the first place, but maybe something about being a literal cat has reset his filters and let him express himself in ways his human body wouldn’t before.

Was Castiel ever this clingy as a human? Dean tries to remember—really tries, because it’s been three days and Castiel hasn’t left his side once. Castiel is a heavy sleeper, though, thankfully, and he radiates body heat like a furnace, leaving Dean drenched in sweat every morning because Castiel has decided to crawl as close as he can without pushing Dean off the bed, leading to the most awkward spooning sessions of his life.

Wherever Bastet is, she must be laughing herself to death. Dean certainly hopes it’s literal.

Though, the longer the days progress, the slower Castiel gets, the original exuberance of the experience beginning to wear thin. Dean knows this isn’t easy for him—nothing is ever easy for any of them—but they’re trying as hard as they can, deciphering as many manuscripts as possible just to put a dent in whatever they’re dealing with. In fact, if Dean knew any better, Castiel was already back to his old self, as least mentally, emotionally.

What frustrates Castiel the most, Dean suspects, is communication, and the lack thereof.

Sitting in the sun does seem to help though, at least minutely. And brushing—granted, it’s with one of Sam’s hairbrushes, but it works just the same, the rhythm settling Castiel’s nerves and the constant need to move but having nowhere to go. Overhead, the early spring sun beats down, and Dean sits with Castiel’s head perched over his thigh while Dean runs the brush through his fur, each movement eliciting another purr.

“It’s just weird,” Dean comments after a while, wiping the sweat from his brow. Castiel nudges his hand in retaliation, begging for contact. “I mean, one minute we’re… cuddling or whatever, and the next, you’re a cat. The hell happened that night?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, or at least as much as he can in this form. Lifting up, he paws at Dean’s thigh, flexing his claws into the meat there; not enough to hurt, but it still stings all the same. Whatever he wants, Dean isn’t following. “You wanna hold my hand?” Dean joshes, but to his shock, Castiel nods and lifts his paw.

Skeptical, Dean takes it—and sees.

There’s the only bar in Lebanon; about a week ago, the three of them went out to celebrate the end of another hunt and shoot pool with the locals. Dean remembers this—remembers how the only woman in the joint kept chatting Castiel up. She’d been decked out in bangles around her wrists and a single strip of gold chain hanging from her neck. She was pretty, dark-skinned with red lips and deep hazel eyes, and a smile that could seduce just about anyone.

And she’d gone after Castiel, and left the bar about thirty minutes later alone, grinning all the while. Dean should’ve known the second she walked in the door that she wasn’t human, but she hadn’t seemed dangerous at the time. She hadn’t seemed capable of cursing an Angel, either, but here Castiel was, the proof of her spell work.

Whatever conversation they had, it wasn’t in English, leaving much of Dean’s perception of the event up to debate. What he did notice, though, was the reddish glimmer in her eyes and the subsequent passing of that energy, Castiel’s scleras flushing red for a split second, and then nothing. Shortly after, the woman left and slipped something into Castiel’s pocket— _his coat pocket._

Castiel’s Grace slips free easily, returning Dean’s awareness back to Castiel, Castiel’s paw in hand and head cocked to the side. God, it really is him. “What’d she give you?” Dean asks.

All Castiel can do is lead the way. Dean follows behind and nudges Sam along the way, the three of them heading towards Castiel’s bedroom, where his coat hangs on the back of his desk chair, covered in a week’s worth of dust.

“Alright, so, Cas said Bastet put something in his coat pocket,” Dean explains, turning to Sam.

In turn, Sam raises his eyebrows and just stares, bewildered, between the both of them. “What, he talks now?”

Castiel barks, jumping up onto his bed.

“He kinda…” Dean waves his hand at Castiel, looking pointedly at his paw. “He’s still got his Grace. Weird, right?”

“Right,” Sam says, concerned. “What’d he show you?”

Dean looks around the room before he speaks, digging through drawer after drawer to find a pair of woolen gloves. “She was at the bar last week,” he starts, slipping one on. “Whatever they were talking about, I couldn’t understand it, but she put something in here.”

“But how—Why?” Sam takes the other glove when offered, his brow pinched. “That was three days before this even happened, do you think she hexed him?”

“Whatever she did, it must’ve had a delayed effect,” Dean says. Kneeling, he searches every pocket he can find until he finds a stone, a gold chain strung through the top. Not a hex bag, but an actual emerald, uncut and jagged at the edges. In the lamplight, it gleams, revealing an oddly colored center in the shape of an iris.

Cat eye—she gave him a giant cat eye-shaped rock, and none of them knew. “Did you touch it?” Sam asks Castiel, taking the stone from Dean.

In shame, Castiel nods and turns his head, resting it atop his crossed paws. No retort, nothing but silence and a heavy sigh resonating from his chest.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Sam continues, crossing the room to sit at Castiel’s side. “It happens to the best of us. You didn’t know.”

Castiel doesn’t look up, but his tail twitches; in annoyance or embarrassment, Dean doesn’t know. At least they know a cause, though; hopefully, now they can reverse it without Castiel, or either of them, being horribly maimed in the process.

Gently, Dean rubs the spot between Castiel’s eyes, earning a quiet purr and a nip to his fingers for his trouble. “You’re gonna be okay, promise,” he says, offering a smile. “So if he touched it and it turned him—”

“Then doing it again might reverse it?” Sam finishes. Dean nods and looks to the stone in Sam’s gloved hand, Sam rolling it between his fingers. “It’s worth a shot. At worst, we’ll just keep researching, or get a hold of Bastet. I found her summoning spell, but there’s no way we’re getting the ingredients without selling something.”

“Then let’s hope this works,” Dean huffs. Castiel watches him when he sits, taking one of Castiel’s paws into his hand; Castiel flexes, his claws curling around Dean’s fingers in the strangest effort at handholding Dean has ever experienced. “Hold your breath, okay?”

Whether Castiel does or not, Dean doesn’t get a chance to find out. Sam places the stone square between Castiel’s eyes, and every lightbulb in the room blows, sending sparks careening to the floor.

-+-

Castiel doesn’t wake up for two days. Not that Dean is counting or anything, considering Castiel just spent the last five days in the form of a wild cat and now he’s… whatever he is. The transformation from feline to human involves gelatinous shapes and strange popping noises and the reformation of limbs that strikes Sam as utterly fascinating but grosses Dean out to no end.

But he waits. He doesn’t stay by Castiel’s side all the time, but he checks often to see where Castiel is in his journey, several times spotting a mass of Grace floating above his bed, other times witnessing the birth of a leg or a hand. Time moves strangely here, almost occupying two different planes simultaneously, almost too much to comprehend.

Angels will never make sense to him, Dean decides, closing the door once again.

Dean sleeps restlessly all the while, and it only dawns on him the following morning that Castiel isn’t there at his side to keep him company, like he has been for the past year. Always at his back, arms around his waist, or vice versa. Even as a cat, he was always there, either sleeping at the foot of Dean’s bed or right up against him.

He’s not there, though, not anymore, and Dean can’t stand it.

“The stone is essentially a hex bag,” Sam tells Dean over breakfast, the emerald sitting between them, enclosed in a plate glass box. The sooner they can shove the thing in storage, the sooner they can push this nasty incident out of their memory. “It’s cursed, but it only targets supernatural beings.”

“So we could’ve picked it up and it would’ve been fine?” Dean says, spooning cereal into his mouth.

“Essentially.” Sam shrugs. “But we didn’t know it at the time. How is he, by the way?”

“I’ve been better,” Castiel grumbles from the doorway, rubbing both eyes with his fists.

Dean’s chair hits the floor with a clatter before he can bother to think twice about launching out of his seat. Castiel is solid muscle and bone and flesh in his embrace, and his heart beats solid against Dean’s chest, rhythmic and no longer rapidly pounding against his breastbone. It’s only been a week, but Dean really has really missed his face, and his lips, when he sneaks in a kiss while Sam isn’t looking.

“God, it’s good to see you again,” Dean says, pulling away to see Castiel’s smile. He tastes like morning breath, but for once, Dean could care less. “When did you wake up?”

“About an hour ago.” Castiel pads his way to the counter and snags one of the lemon muffins Sam bought yesterday, shoving half of it in his mouth in one go. Maybe it’s an angel thing—he has to get his strength back, after all, right? “That was… entirely unpleasant.”

“Which one, the part where you were a cat or the part where you were pure energy?” Sam asks, chuckling to himself.

Castiel shakes his head; still, Dean can feel the mirth radiating off him. “Both. I couldn’t talk to either of you, and I didn’t feel entirely… there, in my body. It wasn’t until yesterday that I realized what had happened.”

Dean sighs through his nose, shoulders slumped. So Castiel hadn’t known what was going on after all. But that didn’t explain how attached Castiel had been through it, how out of the two of them, Castiel stayed by Dean’s side and Dean’s side only. But he was here now, and that was all Dean cared about—that Castiel was alive and an Angel again, and not trapped as a cat for the rest of his life.

“What’d Bastet say to you?” Sam asks, elbows on the table. “Dean said you showed him what happened?”

“Right.” Castiel grabs the orange juice from the fridge and an empty cup, downing most of the glass. “We were friends, once, millennia ago. She isn’t a trickster, but she’s been known for her… revelry.”

“So she hexed you for fun?” Dean suggests. His eyebrows shoot up when Castiel nods.

“To be fair, the last time we met, I left her with several cursed birds. They squawked through the night until she begged me to make them stop.” He stops to snicker into his cup. “This was payback.”

Dean snorts, and Sam joins in, head thrown back in laughter. “Well, I for one am glad you’re back,” Sam announces, standing. “And I’m taking this,” he says, motioning to the emerald in its case, “somewhere we’re never gonna find it again.”

Sam leaves unceremoniously, leaving Dean on his own and Castiel to rummage through the pantry for anything else he can shove in his face. “Hey, you’re gonna eat yourself to death if you don’t watch it,” Dean scolds, not unkindly, and pulls Castiel into his arms from behind. Castiel hums in content, baring his throat enough for Dean to kiss it, the long expanse of muscle and vein warm against his lips. “Missed your voice. You’re a chatty cat, y’know that?”

“I do remember that,” Castiel muses. He rakes his fingers through Dean’s hair and sighs, content. “I liked hearing you talk. Even if I couldn’t answer you, it was… nice, to know you were there.”

“I’ll always be here.” Dean holds him tighter for emphasis, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere, no matter what you look like.”

Castiel rests his cheek against Dean’s temple, covers his hands with his own. _This is how it’s supposed to be_ , Dean thinks. And all is right with the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Wahoo! This was written in a bit of a writer's funk, which is the reason why it's a bit shorter than I would've liked it to be. It's still super cute though, so I hope y'all enjoy it! I do love me some cheetahs. Also thank you to Bexy for betaing as always!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
